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The Soprano

"Trying to Forget"

After six months of Michael’s disappearance, he was declared dead.

And as everyone offered me their condolences, I remained seated, unsure of what was awaiting for me in my future. Uncertain on how would I survive without Michael in my life. Everything just shattered before me, my past, my present, and my future.

I was supposed to sing at Michael’s memorial, he would’ve loved that, he always did. I’m sorry my love—I can’t sing…not now, especially now.

My mother stayed with me throughout the whole memorial and afterwards. She brought me comfort, although it was barely enough to keep me from wallowing in my sorrow.

Here I am twenty two and already a widower. Never had I imagined my life would take such a drastic turn.

When we came home, it’s when I fell apart completely. I dropped down on my knees and cried, cried, cried. Mother knelt down with me, tears streaming down, staining her pale rosy cheeks. She held me close to her chest; “It’s okay baby, it’s okay, it’s okay…” she rocked softly back and forth in attempts to calm me, but all I could think about was Michael. Never again will I wake up next to him in the mornings, never will I feel him holding onto me as if he would his dear life, never will I see him smile...never...never.

What a way to continue with my life, young and already a widow.

The next three weeks were hammering me again, again, and again. Michael’s belongings were sent to me from the company he worked in. As I rummaged through his desk and office supplies, I found small pictures of him and I together, smiling, completely in love.
How I wished to have savored those memorable moments more than I had. It’s true what they say, you never know what you have until it’s gone. I sighed, feeling my heart getting heavier and heavier as I kept finding more things that reminded me of the happy times Michael and I had shared together.

Mother entered my room with soft knocks. “Come in…” I said, the door opened and she entered holding a tray with breakfast. “Please Juliana,eat something honey, this isn’t healthy.” She begged. And she was right, the way I was conducting my life so far wasn't healthy. I barely ate anything these past three weeks, and when I did, I only nibbled on whatever my mother would bring me. I felt myself getting weaker everyday; whenever I would look at myself in the mirror, I could see my emerald green eyes swollen as a result of my constant crying.
My once fair skin lost its glow, I was now paler than snow, and my lips were rugged and dry. My long black hair was unruly; it’s been a while since I’ve laid a brush on my strands—but how would I care to do that? How could I even consider pampering myself in any way after reality hit me like a ton of bricks?

Mother laid the tray on my bed and sat down on the edge beside me. She ran her hands through my hair, “Sweetie…eat something, please.” I sighed as I lazily grabbed the fork and scooped the scrambled egg into my mouth. I chewed slowly, reminding myself of its flavor. It was hard for me to even chew as I began to feel my stomach churn in disapproval.
I swallowed, “Mom…I can’t.” I left the fork on the edge of my dish. “I’m sorry…” I muttered. She sighed, she was extremely worried about my health, but at my current circumstance…she understood and I was thankful for that.

Weeks kept forwarding onwards as they turned into months. Six months passed, I was different, and I was changed. I had lost a considerable amount of weight—I looked like a walking dead corpse. But I wasn’t too weakened by my current state, which was surprisng, since I’ve at least been drinking my home made protein shakes—which gave me the energy I needed to face the day.

Mom tried to talk me into going to a psychologist, but it was no use, I wouldn’t budge and she knew that it wasn’t something about to happen. No doctor could prescribe me anything that would numb my pain—my loss. Nothing could…then I received a call from my agent saying that he got me an audition for the role of Mimi in the opera of La Boheme.

I shrugged and figured that maybe singing would get me back on my feet somewhat. And though mother strongly advised against it, worried that I would push myself more than I should—I threw caution to the wind. I knew she meant well, but I needed this, I needed to sing again or else I felt as if I were a bomb that would soon stop ticking and implode.

I packed my things, whatever else I deemed necessary for my trip. My agent, Jacob Starling, had taken care of everything for me, he had already signed me up for auditioning in Graz, Austria for the role of Mimi, he had my tickets and where I would be staying. He was excellent, and was one of the few agents that were actually trustworthy and although I didn’t tell Jacob anything about what happened regarding my deceased husband, Jacob had a knack for sensing things. And because of it, he had a gentle touch comfort with me.

Of course, I’d rather not mix my personal life with my professional one—he needn’t know anything of what I was going through.

The stewards of the airplane helped me secure my belongings and made sure I was satisfied.
I sat down on my seat, and pulled out my cell phone and called Jacob, “Hello?” he answered. “I’m on the plane right now and we’re about to take off.” I said as I made myself comfortable since there was plenty of leg room. “Hopefully we’ll arrive by morning if there aren’t any delays or disturbances.” I said, then I felt the stewardess calling my attention "Ma' am, I'm going to need you to fasten your seat belt." she said.

I looked away from my phone and nodded doing what she had told me to do. As I was clasping my seat belt across my lower belly I continued to listen to Jacob “Great! I’ve already have someone to bring you to the hotel for when you arrive.” Then his suddenly his tone changed, “Juliana, are you alright?” he asked and I could hear his slight tone of worry. Jacob wasn’t the kind to get involved with the personal affairs of his clients, but at the same time he wasn’t indifferent to how they would feel. I forced a small smile, as if he could see it, “Yeah, I’ll live.”

The airplane lifted off. The hours, as I feared, passed painfully slow and I began to feel them manifest in my lower back. The comfortable seat I was assigned began to feel not so comfortable anymore. I asked the stewardess for wine in order to calm my uneasiness.

“Is that all miss?” she asked sweetly. I smiled, “Yes, thank you.” I said as she poured me a glass. I sipped my wine carefully, hoping to enjoy every last drop. Although airplane liquor was never the best choice—it served its purpose, it relaxed my tensed muscles and pains.

The alcohol was beginning to numb my rabid emotions, which was what I needed—now more than ever. I was never a fan of aircrafts, but given the fact that my career required much of it, I learned how to get used to it a little. But if I had to make a choice between traveling by air or water, undoubtedly my choice would be water. However, given that this was not the case and that boats, are known to be slower than airplanes—it would take days for me to reach my destination.

I remember how Michael loathed boats—he would often get very sick easily, and though he wasn’t a flyer either, he found airplanes to be more pleasant than boats.

Michael was always behind a desk and yet he was a very valuable asset to the company’s staff for he had a brilliant mind with negotiations. He was a true business man, and though both of our careers would make use scarcely see each other—it only made us want each other’s company even more. The separation our careers would make between us, though hurtful at times, was an ally to our relationship. I loved it when I would arrive back after a month of being away from him, it just made everything that more special.

But it didn’t cross my mind, that this separation would be permanent. Never again would I come back home to him after a long and tiring voyage. Never again will I be kissed by his soft and wonderful lips, and this reality was only making yearn to be with him whether it'd be in life or in death.

The alcohol had fulfilled its duty and eventually, I fell to a deep slumber.

I gasped and woke up from my nap, I felt my cheeks wet, had I been crying in my sleep? The same stewardess that had attended me earlier saw my cry-stained face and was worried. “Ma’am, are you okay?” she asked.
I sniffed and wiped the left over tears away from my face with my long sleeves. I smiled to her, “Yes I’m fine, just tired out of my mind.” I assured her. She nodded and continued checking on all of the passengers.

No, I was not fine, I was not alright…and maybe I’ll never be. But I had to focus myself in the next passing hours—I was getting back to what I love to do most, singing. Music was always a welcomed companion, it knew exactly what I needed from him-- without fail, and he would provide it. Music, my beloved companion, was he to become my new husband? Would I ever love again after this?

Many questions blossomed into doubts, should I or shouldn’t I? Only life will tell and only time can heal some wounds, but will it be able to heal the loss of a limb? Will I be able to walk with the same air of confidence as I would when Michael was with me, alive and well? It was clear as day to me, my future was certainly uncertain, but there was one thing and one thing alone that will keep me from the borderline of insanity…singing.
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I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter :)